village, amused himself and the savages by exhibiting his marvellous powers with the “silver rifle.” Since it had been won by him at the memorable match in the Mustang Valley, it had scarcely ever been out of his hand, so that he had become decidedly the best shot in the settlement, could “bark” squirrels (that is, hit the bark of the branch on which the squirrel happened to be standing, and so kill it by the concussion alone), and could “drive the nail” every shot. The silver rifle, as we have said, became “great medicine” to the Red-men when they saw it kill at a distance which the few wretched guns they had obtained from the fur-traders could not even send a spent ball to. The double shot, too, filled them with wonder; but that which they regarded with almost supernatural curiosity was the percussion cap, which, in Dick’s hands, always exploded, but in theirs was useless.
This result was simply owing to the fact that Dick, after firing, handed the rifle to the Indians without renewing the cap; so that when they loaded and attempted to fire, of course it merely snapped. When he wished again to fire, he adroitly exchanged the old cap for a new one. He was immensely tickled by the solemn looks of the Indians at this most incomprehensible of all “medicines,” and kept them for some days in ignorance intending to reveal it before he left. But circumstances now arose which banished all trifling thoughts from his mind.
Mahtawa raised his head suddenly, and said, pointing to the silver rifle, “Mahtawa wishes the two-shotted medicine gun. He will give his best horse in exchange.”
“Mahtawa is liberal,” answered Joe; “but the pale-faced youth cannot part with it. He has far to travel, and must shoot buffaloes by the way.”
“The pale-faced youth shall have a bow and arrows to shoot the buffalo,” rejoined the Indian.
“He cannot use the bow and arrow,” answered Joe. “He has not been trained like the Red-man.”
Mahtawa was silent for a few seconds, and his dark brows frowned more heavily than ever over his eyes.
“The Pale-faces are too bold,” he exclaimed, working himself into a passion, “They are in the power of Mahtawa. If they will not give the gun he will take it.”
He sprang suddenly to his feet as he spoke, and snatched the rifle from Henri’s hand.
Henri being ignorant of the language had not been
